Greek Zombie
by Kiwi234
Summary: Sherlock is put in danger while investigating a case about a killer on the loose dressed as the ancient Greek hero Achilleus


Greek Zombie

"There's been a break out from a mental institute."

"That's hardly a crime."

"The deputy Prime Minister's dog has gone missing."

"The ex-wife took it."

"Some Ancient Greek artefacts have been stolen from a private collection."

"Boooooring." Sherlock groaned and leant back in his chair. "Is there no one in this entire city capable of committing a crime intricate enough to challenge me?"

John rolled his eyes and flicked to the back of the paper to do the crossword. "I'm sorry there aren't as many bad things happening as you would like. Perhaps we could have a day off. Go to a movie or something."

"John, please. If that was an attempt at a joke, it was a poor one. I need problems, puzzles, cases!" A knock from downstairs made Sherlock sit up. The hurried footsteps climbing the stairs further excited him.

"Tell me you have something interesting for us, Lestrade."

The inspector didn't seem surprised that Sherlock had addressed him before he'd even entered the room. He didn't reply straight away, instead saying; "Morning, John."

"Morning, Greg."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really. There's no time for pleasantries, not when my brain is crying out for stimulation. Tell me you have something interesting," he repeated.

"Have you heard about the theft of the Greek artefacts?"

Sherlock leant back in disappointment. "I was hoping you'd have a murder for me."

"I do."

"Connected to the theft?" John asked, laying down his paper. Even Sherlock was leaning forward again.

"We believe so." Lestrade pulled out his pocket book and flipped a third of the way through it. "In the early hours of this morning a man was attacked by another man in the alley behind the bar where he works. The last patron saw the attack. He claims: "The attacker had on this weird shiny hat thing, a leather skirt and some sort of body armour. He shouted a few things at the victim and embraced him. When the victim tried to fight off his attacker, the 'weird-looking dude', his words not mine," Lestrade apologized, "took to him with his sword.

"The attacker was gone by the time we got there. The witness was in a highly inebriated state but managed to identify the armour and weapons of the attacker as those that had been stolen a few hours earlier from the private collection."

"What did the attacker shout?" Sherlock inquired, now thoroughly intrigued.

"The witness wasn't entirely sure. As I said, he was extremely pissed." Lestrade flicked to another page in his pocket book. "It wasn't anything he understood, but it sounded like the words 'patrol' and 'kiss'."

"What did he look like?"

"The witness didn't get a very good look. He could only tell that the attacker..."

"Not the attacker!" Sherlock interrupted. "The victim! What did the victim look like?"

Lestrade was obviously taken aback but answered anyway. "Tall, pale, thin, black hair."

Sherlock groaned. "Entirely ordinary, then." He glanced around angrily as both John and Lestrade fought to restrain laughter. "You think it's amusing that I called someone who matches my own description ordinary, thereby calling myself ordinary?" He shook his head in disappointment. "When will you learn that external appearance only concerns me if it reveals a clue to the crime? It is very much the contents of person which interests me."

"Preliminary autopsy shows nothing amiss there either except from a well-used liver," Lestrade replied through his laughter. John managed to restrain himself until he saw the look of utter exasperation on Sherlock's face at which point he joined in with the inspector. They were abruptly interrupted by the ringing of the inspector's phone. He excused himself briefly to answer it, in which time Sherlock and John sat in taciturn silence. John returned to his crossword puzzle while Sherlock leant back and embarked on contemplation.

"There's been another attack," Lestrade announced upon his return. "Will you help with the case, Holmes?"

Sherlock grinned and tugged his scarf off the back of his chair. "Lead on, inspector."

"Do not tell me you fail to recognize your own dear Achilleus." The witness repeated for the third time. He was a scrawny youth but claimed to be a classics minor at university. "That's what he said after he ran and embraced...him." At this the youth gestured towards the body lying a few metres away, further into the police cordon. Watson was still bent over in his examination. Sherlock had seen all he had needed in a few short seconds. The identity of the victim was not the important piece in the puzzle, nor was the ragged lacerations inflicted by a dull and ancient blade.

"What happened then?" Lestrade asked wearily. It barely occurred to Sherlock that the inspector had been working for over eight hours already that day and it was barely mid-morning.

"The...victim...tried to fight him off. The attacker, Achilleus or whatever, shouted at him to stop. Called him Patroklos. When he kept struggling the warrior guy went at him." The youth shuddered. "It was horrendous. I'd hid when I first saw him. You'd have to be crazy to walk the streets of London in ancient Greek armour, and crazy people are liable to be violent."

"That's an unscientifically founded stereotype, fostered by collective pessimism and a confirmation bias." Sherlock's interruption wasn't well received by the inspector and seemed to only confuse the youth.

"As I was saying, when he wouldn't let the victim get away I called the cops."

"Is there anything else you noticed that might be of use to us?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock sighed at the question. Had there been anything else of important it would have registered in the youth's subconscious and therefore would not be brought into his conscious by such a vague question. The youth shook his head and Lestrade sent him off with another officer.

"Well. What do you think?"

"I think a great deal, inspector. Do not expect me to verbalize all of it." Sherlock strode off before Lestrade could ask the more direct question he had implied in his first.

"What do you think, doctor?" the detective asked as he crouched next to his colleague.

"The injuries match the description of the attack and the weapon. No other sign of foul play." John straightened and rubbed his aching shoulder. "Entirely unremarkable, aside from the fact that he almost perfectly matches the description of the first victim. Did you get anything of use out of the witness?"

"Just the motive," Sherlock replied. John muffled a chuckle as Lestrade's brow knit into a scowl of confusion.

"You did?"

"Of course."

"Mind telling me?"

"Of course," Sherlock laughed. It was a sound empty of joy and full of superiority. "In time."

Lestrade looked about to press further when his phone rang. It was a very brief call. "That was the constable. Apparently the news of these serial killings has already hit the web. They're calling the killer the Greek Zombie." John groaned as if at a bad pun, but Sherlock clearly didn't understand the reference.

"That's entirely illogical. The killer is obviously not the undead corpse of Achilleus. Even if zombification was scientifically possible it wouldn't work with someone who had died thousands of years ago. The closest would be a reanimated skeleton."

"The media don't care about technicalities like that, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed and put his phone away. "We need to get this sorted as quickly as we can, before the media can start a frenzy. Things have already gotten out of hand."

"For once we agree. What can you tell me about the victim?" As Lestrade began to speak Sherlock pre-empted his usual spiel of age, occupation and the other irrelevant details. "What can you tell me of significance?"

"The victim has an identical twin, living not far from here."

"Have you sent anyone to protect him?"

"Protect him?" Lestrade repeated. "I've sent an officer to inform him of his brother's death. You think he's in danger?"

Sherlock inhaled sharply and deeply. John recognized his frustration. "I do not believe it is coincidence that the two victims share the same physical appearance."

"I thought you said physical appearance was unimportant?"

"Only when it doesn't reveal something about the case. Here, it reveals everything! You say the twin isn't far?"

"Just a few blocks north," Lestrade replied before finding the address he had been sent from the station.

"You had best accompany us, inspector, and quickly." Sherlock had already set off down the street. He paused and turned back to the still-stationary Lestrade with a grin that only murder could put on his face. A man's life may depend upon our haste."

They found the house in a matter of minutes. The officer Lestrade had sent to inform the twin of his brother's death was walking back to his car when they arrived. Sherlock didn't stop to berate the officer but charged through the fortunately unlocked front door.

"Help!" The cry greeted them immediately as they ran into the house. Sherlock led the way into the lounge from where the sound had come. Standing in front of a glass slider door that opened onto a grassy river bank was the victim's twin, identical in every aspect except that he was alive and currently free of wounds. The man pressing a sword to his neck struck a far more impressive sight. An archaic bronze helmet shone on his head as brightly as the breast plate on his chest. The leather skirt was not an antique but appeared handmade. He called himself Achilleus, and certainly looked the part.

"Let him go," Lestrade said as he stepped forward slowly, gun raised.

"That's not going to work," Sherlock replied with a sigh. "This man is clearly delusional. A modern weapon won't intimidate him." As Sherlock spoke the expression on Achilleus' face turned from anger to amazement. He threw his captive to the floor, to whose assistance John ran immediately. Both he and Lestrade cried out in shock when a second later the attacker had Sherlock in the same grip. He stepped slowly back and slid open the glass door. Sherlock offered no resistance. He knew it was futile. He had barely reacted when he felt the blade fall against his neck. He determinedly avoided meeting John or Lestrade's gaze.

"If any of you try to follow us," Achilleus said as he half led half dragged Sherlock through the door, "If anyone tries to come between us again I will take both our lives. I would rather rejoin my love in Hades than bear a mortal life without him."

Sherlock allowed himself to be led along the river bank towards a cluster of abandoned buildings. He only looked back once but as he did so he saw the fear in John's eyes. Until then he hadn't been afraid.

"Kill me if you must but please don't hurt me," Sherlock said as Achilleus locked them in the office of a run-down factory. "Death doesn't frighten me but pain is rather uncomfortable."

"I will only take your life if those men try to stop us being together." Achilleus strode forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's neck. "The mighty Zeus has granted us exit from Hades so that we may spend another mortal life together. I will not allow you to die before your time again, my sweet Patroklos."

Sherlock racked his brain for whatever information about the Trojan War he could remember. _Why did I not think it important! _he thought angrily. The logical part of his brain, the vast majority, immediately sprang to his defence. _I could hardly have expected to be in a perilous altercation with someone who believes he is Achilleus reincarnated._

He knew John would find him. He knew the doctor would come to his rescue. He just had to distract his opponent for long enough. Sherlock smiled as he found the right room in his mind palace and the information flooded into his brain. "If you had not been so stubborn and fought with your country folk I would not have had to go to battle in your stead."

"Stubborn? Agamemnon took her! She was my prize and he took her!"

"Was I not enough for you? Was our love not enough?" Sherlock could barely stop himself laughing at the absurdity of the conversation.

Achilleus fell to the ground and clasped Sherlock's knees in supplication. "Forgive me, cousin. I knew then not what worldly love truly meant. I did not value your life as I ought to, as I do now." He raised himself back up to his feet. "But I killed that swine, Hector, in retribution. I dragged his body three times around Troy. Did I not avenge you well?"

"I am proud of your felling of Ilium's great hero." Sherlock paused as long as he thought safe. He needed every second he could buy. "Yet you returned his body to Priam. You betrayed me just as you had won my forgiveness."

Achilleus fell to the floor once more. "The gods would not have forgiven me had I failed to rectify my transgression. You know as well as I do the punishment for denying a man, any man, the right of proper burial."

Sherlock turned away in mock anger, although his real purpose was to hide his amusement.

"Had I not returned Hector to his father the gods would not have granted us this second life, Patroklos. We would have remained in Hades forever. I never would have seen the Elysium although I fell in battle."

"That is not enough for me to forgive you."

"Just give me time, I can explain."

"I have had years in the underworld to think over your betrayal. One mortal life is not enough time to explain."

"I'll make it up to you, I swear!"

"Your love was not strong enough to save me. Mine is not strong enough to save you now."

"I'm on my knees begging you for forgiveness!"

"Not if you supplicated for the number of years I've had to bear the pain of your betrayal could I forgive you." Sherlock had allowed himself to get more involved in the conversation than he'd intended. He almost felt a connection with the man kneeling before him, gazing up at him with eyes full of remorse and adoration.

The love turned to anger as the door flew open with a loud crash. A second later the face disappeared as Lestrade tackled him to the ground.

"Sherlock!" John was at his side in a second. "Are you ok?"

"Just fine, doctor. I've been rather enjoying myself actually. Still, it's a good thing you have finally found me. I was running out of applicable knowledge." Sherlock adjusted his slightly displaced scarf. "Now that the case is solved, we must return to Baker Street. I need to check the bruising on that leg."

"You said the case was solved," John said as he settled on the couch, as far away from the dismembered limb as possible. Sherlock didn't glance up from his examination.

"I did indeed say that, as it is the truth. Really it was a very straightforward case. Even in its simplicity I enjoyed it, however. Perhaps because it was so unusual.

Before John could probe further a very familiar knock at the front door preceded Lestrade's entry. "I thought I'd come and let you know we've worked out who the culprit is and why he committed these attacks."

"Took you long enough." Sherlock still didn't look up. He paused as he fetched a ruler before continuing. "The culprit is the escaped schizophrenic from the mental institute. He was suffering under the delusion that he was Achilleus reincarnated and believed that his ancient lover Patroklos had similarly been restored to life." Sherlock chuckled triumphantly as he recorded the size of the bruising. "He stole the armour and sword to restore himself as a warrior then set out to find Patroklos. For some reason, perhaps a drawing he had seen in one of the books at the institute, he thought Patroklos fit the description of our victims, including myself."

Sherlock finally looked up from the pale and pungent leg. "Like I said, all really rather simple once the facts are laid bare."

"Hold on." John unburied the newspaper from that morning. "I told you about the breakout before Lestrade turned up and informed us of the murder. How soon did you know they were connected?"

Sherlock just looked over at the doctor and winked.


End file.
